She watches me, waiting for more.
“I’m the one who got you out.”
Her lips part slightly at that, her eyes searching my face like she’s trying to match me to something in her memory.
“How?” she asks. “That place was locked down. There were guards everywhere.”
“We knew where to hit,” I say simply. “We made an opening and took it.”
“We?” she asks.
“Me and my team.”
She nods faintly, but I can tell that answer doesn’t settle everything. Not even close.
“I know you,” she says after a second, uncertainty threading through her voice. “Or… I should?”
“Yeah,” I tell her. “You should.”
I shift in the chair and reach back, grabbing the hem of my shirt.
“You remember the charity event?”
She nods slowly. “Yeah… I was running it.”
“I was there,” I say. “Didn’t stay long.”
Her eyes narrow slightly, trying to place me.
“I don’t—”
“I didn’t buy the painting,” I cut in. “Wentwith something else.”
I lift my shirt just enough and turn slightly, giving her a clear view over my shoulder.
The tattoo.
Her tattoo.
She stills completely.
“…that’s mine,” she whispers.
“Yeah.”
I let the shirt fall back into place and turn toward her again.
“Came back after the event,” I add. “Figured if I was going to spend money, it might as well mean something.”
Her expression shifts—confusion softening into something else as recognition starts to settle in.
“I remember you,” she says slowly. “You didn’t talk much.”
“That tracks.”
The faintest flicker of something almost like a smile touches her lips, but it fades quickly as everything else presses back in.
The door opens behind me, the doctor and nurse stepping in quietly. They move around her, checking her vitals, adjusting the IV. She glances at them briefly, but her attention keeps pulling back to me.
